the microphone molester / machete undresser "stupid-dope-fresh" type shit resurrector top gun / miramar / best of the best-er the leave-an-MC-peace-in-rest-er skill tester / the flex-the-gunner the make-funner / the adversary make runner the make summer cold with rhymes i spit kick gift to lifted delinquent wit I be the prophet / my rhyme–top it? stop it. fly like rocket when I rock it lock it down with this perverse verse every fuckin curse a burst of hurt move crowds: physical fitness rhymes coke heads couldn’t do my lines i’m decorated like christmas pines my battalion rocks MCs become silohetes of chalk
Reading my eyes will say it in many ways Losing my pride will save it in many days
hit the dirt because the words I spit will do more than just rip your shirt i’ll bitch slap your soul contact the track control you coming at me? you can’t hack it though so ridiculous watching my crew get sick of this wickedness pitchin’ this lyrical viciousness to crews and cliques made of men and mistresses this is my life the twilight in the fight night and trying to see nothing but the highlights when I write these eyes on horizons die for my song cry rhymes in krylon fire on / move men telekenetically esoterically beat-speaking with clarity feel my verity / heroism of heresy and sever every MC I see with severity
why not what i came (3x) Why not give me what I came to deserve Why not give me what I came to believe (2x)